


You Can Leave Your Cowl On

by glymr



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Humor, Identity Porn, Let Me Write Your Sequel, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-09
Updated: 2009-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a sequel to "The Full Batty".  You should read that first.</p>
    </blockquote>





	You Can Leave Your Cowl On

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Full Batty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/195283) by [FictionalKnight (Northern_Star)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/FictionalKnight). 



> This is a sequel to "The Full Batty". You should read that first.

Clark always found the dressing room a little...cramped. He'd nearly bumped his head on the doorframe from the beginning (and once he *had* done it, leaving a nasty crack in the wood), and he always had to be a little careful when he was getting into his costume not to knock into the mirror or lean on the bed too hard.

Today it was only by the mercy of...something that the room was mostly intact by the time he was back in his costume again, an operation which had taken all of a minute. Which left him another nine minutes to pace in the miniscule room, if one could call actually call it "pacing", when the room was only about half a pace wide by a pace long anyway.

By the ninth minute, Clark had almost managed to convince himself that either: 1) Bruce had been joking, or 2) Bruce had been feigning desire for the sake of his cover. Only the memory of the sound of Bruce's heartbeat pounding in response to Clark's personal show kept him from being entirely sure.

At ten minutes exactly there was a tap on his door. Clark whirled around and knocked over a vase of flowers from an admirer, managed to catch it before it smashed into the floor, righted it, and took a breath. Then he answered the door.

Bruce was standing there, posture relaxed and slightly skewed as though he were a bit drunk. His eyes, however, were far from being glazed. They were fixed on Clark, and burning to the point where Clark was glad that Bruce wasn't the one with the heat vision.

"Just wanted to congratulate you on an excellent show...Batman," said Bruce, slurring his words very slightly.

Clark smirked at him from behind the cowl and tried to think of something clever to say, but ended up just saying, "Come in."

* * *

Bruce strolled into the dressing room, carefully closing and locking the door behind him, then turned back to Clark, all traces of simulated inebriation abruptly gone from his manner.

"I have two questions," he said in a low voice.

Clark smiled at him, but his face was transformed into something strange, alien, by the mask and cowl. "Only two?"

"The tattoo: *how*?"

"Oh. It's, um, airbrushed. It was the most permanent option I had."

Bruce immediately started thinking of ways to make it *more* permanent. Kryptonite in the ink? No, that would probably be unhealthy in the long term. Maybe a Kryptonite needle?

*Focus*.

"Second question: Batman. Whose idea?"

"Idea?"

"Yours or your manager's?"

"Oh. Um. Mine." His face, or as much of it was revealed by the costume, turned red. "We had to audition and. I needed a costume that had lots of parts to take off. And. I thought of you..."

"Me."

Clark turned redder and looked unhappy. "Well, I could hardly have dressed up as Wonder Woman," he said defensively.

"Mm. Maybe another time."

* * *

Clark blinked. Bruce's eyes were laughing at him, though he was still scowling. "You-"

"Sit down on the bed." Clark blinked again and felt his heart stutter.

"I--okay--you're not mad?"

"No. Sit down." Clark sat down and Bruce immediately slid gracefully to his knees between Clark's legs. "I've always been a big fan, Batman!" he said loudly in his best Brucie Wayne voice.

"I...that is, I'm glad, Mr.-"

Bruce just grinned at him and slid a hand up his thigh. The fabric of the costume, unlike the real batsuit, was thin and rather cheap, and did almost nothing to muffle the sensation. "I mean, who doesn't fantasize about getting rescued by Batman? He's so _strong_ and _capable_. The kind of man who can really take _care_ of you," he gushed as his hands deftly found the fastenings - such as they were - and peeled back the tight pants to reveal Clark's erection. "You were so _impressive_ ," he went on, before silently leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the head, working his tongue against it. Clark bit his lip and choked back the sound trying to escape his throat. Bruce pulled back and it took every ounce of control not to push him back down again. "So _beautiful_ ," and the pitch of his voice was a shade lower. He leaned forward and sucked Clark back in, going much further down this time, and Clark gasped and moaned. The suction was hard, relentless, in direct counterpoint to the man's light and ridiculous words. A strong, calloused hand wrapped around the base and squeezed _hard_ , and Clark jerked.

"Bruce..." he said, the word coming out as a groan.

Damn him, he was pulling back again, but this time he just whispered, "So perfect," before lunging down, swallowing Clark whole, and Clark cried out in spite of himself, "God, Bruce, _Bruce--_ " as the look in Bruce's eyes shredded the last tattered remnants of his control and he thrust up into Bruce's throat and came.

* * *

Bruce pulled back, coughing a little and swallowing, and laughed. He felt...drunk, he felt _high_...he'd just made Clark...he'd just made *Superman* _come_...and suddenly he realized that he'd wanted to do that for a very long time.

Then Clark grinned wickedly at him and the world spun. Bruce blinked a few times and shook his head to clear the dizziness. Their positions were reversed; he was on his back on the narrow cot with Clark hovering above him...literally.

"My turn," said Clark, and a startling breeze on his legs made Bruce shiver before he realized they were now bare. Then his cock was enveloped in sudden, overwhelming heat, and he shuddered, his head falling back. "Clark," he whispered, "Clark..."

Slowly Clark slid back, running his hot tongue on the underside of his dick all the way. "Not going to call me 'Batman'?" he said before flicking against the slit. Bruce jerked and arched.

"No..." he ground out, plunging his fingers into Clark's hair and hanging on. "Superman..." Clark sucked harder. "Kal." It was a whisper, barely subvocalized, but Clark went down further, swallowing him entirely, and he felt consumed, engulfed in the _heat_ of his mouth, his *throat*. "Clark!" And the shout was forced out of him, taking him by surprise as much as the orgasm that seemed _pulled_ out of him before he even realized he was ready. "Clark," he said again, softly, wonder threading his voice.

Clark just smiled and caught him up in a kiss that knocked several items off the dressing table, then leaned close and whispered into his ear, "Does this mean that you'll wear the Superman costume next time?"


End file.
